


Because It's You

by cherry3point14



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Also they kidnap a doctor which might be my favourite thing, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Fluff and Angst, I mean Bobby is in it for all of seconds but you get it, So basically, You're doing the trials, it's angsty, moody shit man, ok so, the boys talk you off the ledge and it's a hit to the heart I tells ya, then like surprising fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-01
Updated: 2018-09-01
Packaged: 2019-07-05 12:24:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15863559
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cherry3point14/pseuds/cherry3point14
Summary: Written from the below prompt (by nonnie on Tumblr):Sam x Reader, with Dean there too of course where it’s the reader completing the trials instead of Sam! And there’s that moment of “if you do this you’ll die” and the reader is all like .... “so?”. And the boys have to talk her down and get her to stop. Once she passes out she wakes up in the infirmary in the bunker with an IV and Sam is checking on her and FLUFF!!!





	Because It's You

“No way Y/N. Not happening. We’ll track down another hellhound, and I’ll kill it.”

You know this is coming from a place of caring, so you have to remind yourself not to let the frustration growling in your gut overwhelm you. It’s not that they think you incapable, you hope, they just care.

You swallow thickly and trudge forward with your argument. Your voice strong and unwavering, “no. I passed the test. Me. I’m doing these trials.”

“My ass you are!” Dean is the one fighting and it’s mostly because you’re avoiding looking at Sam as he lingers to the side.

“It’s a suicide mission for you Dean. God, you Winchesters think you have the monopoly on self-sacrifice huh? Well, guess what? It’s my turn. I’m going to do this and I’m going to see the other end. And when it’s done I’ll have stopped both you clowns from killing yourselves in the process.”

Sam makes himself known now whether you like it or not, he steps out of the shadows like _he_ wanted to stay hidden rather than you avoiding him. He’s the one that reaches out for you, his fingers curling around your bicep, his touch warm and soft. His voice cracks as he begs you, those puppy dog eyes pulling you in like a tractor beam, “please Y/N?”

He’s made a fatal error. Any other day and you both know this would convince you. It wouldn’t be the first time a simple look and a ‘please’ on his lips had changed your mind on something you fundamentally disagreed with. Because you trust Sam with your life. Dean would argue with you until the cows came home but Sam knew he didn’t need to. Today though Sam has miscalculated. Instead of weakening your resolve he only bolsters it. Now the way his warmth spreads through you with just a touch spurs you on. It reminds you of all the good in the world, all the good in Sam, all the good that you can save.

Truth is there’s nothing either of them can say. They don’t understand what it’s like. Watching them save the world, constantly worrying and never being able to do more than help.

This was your one chance to well and truly, completely, save your boys.

You’re all suspended in a moment of stopped time so entirely that neither of them reacts fast enough when you take the slip of paper from Dean’s hands, willing them to believe in you, “I was meant to do this.”

There’s still a slither of shame at defying them forces you to turn away to say the words. “Kah Nuh Ahm Dahr.”

It certainly doesn’t improve the mood in the room when the spell sends you to the floor, doubled over, your veins alight with a power so ancient you don’t know how to describe it. The trial, the spell, it eats away at you. Snapping at the bonds between your soul and your body just enough to leave you breathless.

You’re not sure how long you’re down there but you don’t stand up again until the cackling force in your arm subsides.

Dean seems to have, in seconds, added another hundred pounds to the weight he carries on his shoulders. His face is hard and flushed with anger, but his eyes are soft with shame. And Sam? Sam seems to trail everywhere on your person except for making eye contact, even though this exact moment is when you need his patented silent encouragement the most. Sam seems utterly broken by what you’ve done. He never said the words out loud like Dean had, but you’ve mapped every emotion that runs across his face enough times to know his meaning anyway. He too thinks it should have been him.

They’re both wrong. It was always meant to be _you_.

You’d known as soon as your fingers wrapped around that demon blade and sunk the knife deep enough to draw black blood. You’d known as you split the beast open, sternum to navel, bathing in the hot liquid that gushed out of the thing. Innate knowledge had rolled through you, this was always your purpose. They had their jobs, created when the world began and handed to them by angels, fallen or otherwise. Your job had been there for just as long, etched into a demon tablet, you just hadn’t known till now. You were going to suffocate the fires of hell.

Sam’s hand finds you again, Dean barks your name and you can hear the steady drum of your heartbeat in your ears.

“It’s fine guys, I’m ok. I can do this.”

Everything happens quickly after that. Dean drives, not without a tick in his jaw, some of the ways before stopping at a motel. There are still rooms available. Plural. So, for the first time in hours that feel like years, you have some solitude. Another shower in a questionably stained bathroom and then an unreasonable amount of time staring at yourself in the mirror. There’s nothing new on your face yet, no new lines that signify the magnitude of what’s happened and what is to come. You still look like you for now.

When you manage to make it to the bed and close your eyes, you can still feel the sticky warmth of hellhound blood seeping into every pore. If you didn’t know any better you’d say that despite the scrubbing it’s still lingering under the surface, mingling with your own blood and ready to ooze out of you the next time you get injured. Maybe the only way to close the gates of hell is by becoming a living, breathing embodiment of hell on earth and having hellhound blood mixed with yours forever was the first step.

It wasn’t a total stretch of the imagination with the whole don’t fear danger or death or your spine being ripped out thing that Kevin talked about.

* * *

The fear at the task that lays ahead of you was something you had to keep hidden and buried. That doesn’t mean you don’t feel it. What you’re doing is mostly insane. But you couldn’t show any outward weakness. They’d pounce on it.

Dean asks you at least once a day if you want to tap out. It’s gotten to the point where he surprises you with the question randomly as if the answer he’s looking for will be shocked out of you. Sometimes you find him investigating news articles that look suspiciously like demon deals and you have to drag the laptop out of his hands to make him stop looking for another hound.

Sam always was a little subtler. He tries to treat you normally, but he cracks here and there. He’ll be mid-sentence or watching a movie with you and you’ll catch the way his face drops while gawking at you, or the half-hearted way he researches the second trial. Not that there is much to go on but you’re trying to help Kevin as much as you can. Sam, however, doesn’t appear to be inclined to help with the lazy way he goes through the books. You’ve never seen anyone read with less enthusiasm and you’ve seen Dean research, but from Sam the behavior is suspicious.

Apparently killing the hellhound had been nothing in comparison to the continued task of convincing Sam and Dean that you could do this. You’re still trying to not take offense at their sulking.

Relief then when Kevin calls. Well, not relief for Kevin since he’s going insane and thinks Crowley is in his head, for you at least.

Because once the second trial was done there was no going back. No reset. There wasn’t time. Once you’d done the second trial neither Sam or Dean could offer to take over. It would all be on you. And better than that you’d be two-thirds of the way to stopping every black-eyed bastard from ever setting foot on earth again.

Your brain was clearly trying to protect you. Look past the hurdle of the second trial itself to the respite you would have after it’s done. Your brain was stupid and had no idea what was coming.

It wasn’t just going to hell but finding an innocent in hell and delivering them unto heaven. Just as quickly as Kevin tells you, you’re chomping at the bit to take another shower in Eau de hellhound.

You bite that back. You stand there with a hand on your hip while Dean gets the information out of the demon. You make sure you’re in front of them both and talking to the reaper yourself. You try to position yourself in the forefront at every step. Unfortunately, they are still there though.

“Ok, let’s do this. How much for two tickets down and three back?”

Sam is quick on the draw dragging you all a few steps away and hissing at Dean, “you seriously think I’m not going?”

“Well she has to go but you? Nah, you ain’t going Sammy.”

“I’m not letting you both go down there without me.”

It takes a fist curled into both of their shirts to shut them up, “I know neither of you _men_ wants to admit the truth, but I need to do this solo. These are my trials.”

As usual, both of them open their mouths at once.

“This is Bobby we’re talking about Y/N. We got one shot at this.”  
“If you think I’m letting you go down there alone...”

It’s all the willpower you have not to bang their Winchester heads together while you have them like this. The only reason you don’t is that they might need those heads if you somehow end up trapped in hell.

You face Dean first, nostrils flaring, “I know it’s Bobby. If you don’t think I’d die rather than leave him down there, then you’re an idiot.” Then you spin to Sam, “you need to trust me. I can do this. I’m the only one who can.”

You push them back hard enough that they stumble, not that you’re trying to prove your strength or anything, and then you flick back to the reaper with residual anger lingering on your face, “I’m in. Just me.”

* * *

The first time a vamp attacks you in purgatory it’s like a hunt. Your reactions are instinctual, duck, dive, decapitate. You almost forget that this is purgatory and you’re en-route to hell.

Hell is worse than you could have imagined. The first step fills you with gratitude that you haven’t had a trip down here already. The smell of blistering flesh and brimstone might be burnt into your nostrils stopping you smelling anything else ever again.

You lose track of how many trapped souls you walk past. The begging is endless. They reach for you instinctively like they sense you’re not from here. It dawns on you right then what will happen when you close the gates. Maybe damnation will end for some, demons won’t roam the earth, but all these people are already here. Some who are probably innocent. Some like Bobby who pissed off the wrong person or some that just got a bad rap. You’d hardly guess that they all deserve to be tortured like this. But when you close hell for good they’ll be stuck down here with hordes of angry, bored demons. No doubt the torture will be worse, and their souls will become as twisted as the rest of them in half the time. Sure, they’ll never get out, but hell will somehow become even more hellish by your hand.

You can’t let the guilt distract you. The thought is not easily shaken off but the further you travel the more you have to concentrate and remember your way back.

When you find Bobby the cell door opens with ease and he’s pressed against a wall as you call his name. The sight of him as he turns around is heartbreaking. He looks as tortured as the rest, if not worse. He’s a shadow of the man he was on earth and it kills you. He should never have been down here.

Obviously, the Bobby you knew wouldn’t have punched you in the face either.

You manage to convince him, with secrets and too late advise about Dean’s terrible secret keeping skills. It only took half a fifth, two weeks after the truth goddess case for him to, of his own devices, spill to you and Sam. Bobby doesn’t seem to care as he wraps you up in a hug that you allow yourself to get lost in for too long.

It’s a miracle you find your way back. Not just for the demons that try to stop you, but hell is a maze designed with no exit.

Never would you have thought that purgatory would have been a relief, but it is. It might be grey and full of monsters, but it wasn’t made of blood and bone like hell.

Bobby, after his initial bellyaching, even seems more alive in purgatory. You guess getting busted from hell could do that to a guy.

That is until Ajay doesn’t show but Benny does. That puts the ornery right back into the old miser. There’s no time to explain what he’s missed or the things that have happened in his absence. You’ve all done things to adjust in ways you’re not proud of. And Benny was here to save you after all.

When you cut your arm and mutter the words for Bobby to ride along it’s hard to ignore the way you glow like you had after the hellhound. The power makes your skin bubble and twist unnaturally except it doesn’t go away, not really. The light might fade but the power is still there, ebbing at you.

When you finally taste air again, real air, and feel real dirt beneath your boots you sink into it. You can’t help it. You know you’re not done. You need to release Bobby, as much as you love him he’s like an itch under your skin that you’ll scratch to the bone if you start at it.

But you still need the moment. You let your legs crumble under you and your hands barely stop you going face first into the forest floor. The sound of the boys shouting your name hardly registers. Your body is too caught up in the literal hell you’ve just put it through.

When they reach you and lift you up from the floor you try to shake them off straight away, “I’m fine. Really.”

Neither of them lets up. They wrap their arms around you and for the second time that day you let yourself get comforted by a hug. You realize that this isn’t just for you, it’s for them. Selfishly you’ve already forgotten what it’s like to be worrying about someone else while they try to save the world, despite your extensive experience.

Dean steps back first while Sam lingers another second. If you didn’t know any better you’d think you heard a muttered, “thank god” but that was surely the wind through your hair, not his lips near your ear.

For as bad as the second trail is, as much as even after you’ve released Bobby you can still feel that lingering itch, there’s a pay off better than closing the gates of hell. Because once Crowley and Naomi are done with their spat you get to watch Bobby Singer go where he rightfully belongs. The penthouse. Eternal peace and everything else.

Doesn’t matter that saying the spell stings worse this time. Red hot pain lighting up every nerve ending like the fourth of July. Sam’s there holding you and Dean’s pleading with you to be ok. Because they both got you. In their own ways, they both make sure you don’t fall.

* * *

Cure a demon. You had to cure a demon.

The words don’t fit in your mouth properly, let alone your head. And yet, you know you will do it. You have to do it.

Every day you look into the mirror hanging in your room and note the changes. Your skin becomes sallow and your eyes hollow out until there’s more shadow there than darkness in hell. Although it's hard to muster up caring. Let these things take whatever they want from you at this point, you’re so close to the finish line you can taste it more clearly than the coffee you live on to keep yourself awake.

The plan becomes starts off simple. A classic bait and switch. You’re standing at the end of a contract longer than you are with a pen in your hand. Playing the part of the concerned friend is Dean while he reads every line and Sam is making sure you stay upright. He’s next to you, arm pressed against yours, even under clothes and coats you can feel him like you're skin to skin.

The click of your pen is the signal. It’s what lures Crowley into a false sense of security and gives Dean the precious second of distraction to snap the cuff on him. Not only have you caught yourself a demon, but you’ve caught the king of hell. It’s retribution so delicious that you manage a grin. Curing Crowley will close hell forever and if that isn’t the best version of the third trial then you don’t know what is.

It’s outside the church, with Sam sorting your supplies for you when Dean asks, “you ever done the ‘forgive me, father’ before?”

You look up from the ground where you’d been staring aimlessly at rain seeping into gravel, “a couple of times when I was a kid but that was like, forgive me for taking an extra cookie, you know? So, I’ve got no idea really.”

“Well I mean, spitballing here, but when we met you were… ah…”

You let out this growl that you haven’t ever before and silence him with a glare, “I get it, thanks bud.”

He holds his hands up defensively and there’s, dare you say it, a touch of a joke behind his eyes. Sam stands up and hands you the triple checked bag of supplies whereas he’s all compassion. He’s sympathetic eyes and easy expressions.

“You good?”

His question is so much more than about your confession. It’s everything in two words. And you know that if you answered in the negative he’d be ok with it. He’d find a way to make it ok, even this close to the finish line because that’s just what Sam does for you.

Which is why you’re so focused on doing this. Ending this. You can already see these two in front of you, the mighty Winchesters, with lives after this. Yes, there are other monsters to hunt but demons are a big slice of the pie and maybe in between the rest they’ll have time for some semblance of normality. Maybe they’ll both find girls and settle down, going out on dates between killing werewolves and ganking ghosts.  

“I got this,” you smile up at him with watery eyes, overwhelmed for a second at the repercussions of what you’re about to do. “Time for me to do this thing.”

The confession booth is old and creaky and the wood moans under your weight. You find yourself wrapping your hands together without thinking.

“God, I mean, if anybody’s listening, I guess I start with forgive me father, for I have sinned. It’s been twenty-three, maybe twenty-four years since my last confession and if you haven’t guessed I’m not really sure what to say here. But I know I start with the big ones, right? I’ve killed people. And I’m not talking about killing a demon along with the person they’re possessing, although, I’ve done that too. I’m talking about regular people. I’ve done- I’ve always told myself it was for the right reasons, and it was. I thought it was. Killing one person might have saved a hundred others but doesn’t mean I didn’t pull the trigger.”

Despite there being no priest on the other side of the busted wooden window there’s a lump in your throat that gives you pause. It stops you where you might be forgiven.

“I can still see their faces. Sometimes in my nightmares and sometimes when I’m walking through the grocery store. I remember every name and fuck.”

You’re wiping at your cheeks now while mourning tears flow down your face, but the words spill out faster. Half confession, half therapy.

“I’m sorry about saying fuck too. I’ve done more than just kill. I cheat when I play cards in bars, I lie about everything. Can’t really remember the last time I told the truth except to Sam and Dean. Oh. Sam and Dean. I've slowed them down for so long. They could have saved so many more people. I think- I think it's worse than killing someone. Killing I've done to save people but getting in their way is only stopping them. They didn't think I could do this, these trials and if I’m honest I didn't either. I was so scared. But I'm not scared anymore. The truth is the only thing worse than going through this is thinking about one of them going through this. So I guess if you could forgive me for that, for distracting them and letting them down. That's... that'd be everything."

At some point, you've closed your eyes with your forehead resting on your still crossed hands. You’re not sure if it’s enough but it will have to be. After a moment of silence still hunched over you sign the cross over yourself you whisper, "Amen."

You rub the back of your hands over your face to remove any sign of your breakdown before you walk out. From here you needed to be the strength you pretend to be.

It takes too much convincing to get them to go and help Cas, but they’ve got to cut you loose sometime. It’s better if they’re not here, then there’s no mistake. This is all on you.

Stabbing the needle in your arm stings in an abstract kind of way, pumping the blood into Crowley feels like a relief. It’s the middle part that wears you down. The waiting. Not because Crowley won’t shut up, he won’t but you can tune him out like white noise. It’s the way your body burns between each shot. You spend 59 minutes sweating despite the cold and shivering despite your fever. That force is back, never dying, consuming your body so completely. Draining you of all energy and taking everything you have to give. And then taking more.

You want to think that’s why Abaddon has such free reign of the situation when she shows up but realistically she’s a knight of hell, even with you at full strength she’d throw you around like a rag doll.

It's her mistake that she doesn’t realize what she’s breaking up. She has no idea the mission you’re on. You passed the point of no return a while ago and burning her suit, it’s as easy as breathing.

By the time injection, number 8 rolls around you don’t think you can stay standing, even though you do. The magic of these trials, be it godly or demonic, is what makes your muscles taught and functioning. You glow like a Christmas tree now and you’re as heated as one too. Your vision is foggy like you’re in a vivid fever dream where Crowley is begging for love and you’re trying to wade through the haze.

The last needle in your arm takes the last of you. It vacuums more than the blood from your veins, it takes a piece of your heart. But you’d give it all, the whole damn thing, you’d give all of yourself, for this.

Crowley asks you what you confessed before you sink the last syringe into his neck, you don’t tell him. He's had everything else from you but he won't have your secrets.

Then the exorcism. Different words that you’re used to, but all of this is different. Special. Final.

“Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus, hanc animam redintegra lustra.”

You don’t hiss as you slice your hand open, beyond pain now. If you could still feel then the glowing force that rattles your bones would have killed you by now. You’re numb to anything but your goal.

Or at least, you thought you were numb to everything until they burst in the door, unison cries on their lips.

“Y/N stop!”  
“Y/N don’t do it!”

Your body is tingling, or shaking, and maybe they think it’s the nerves of a madman because Sam jumps head first into his calming voice.

“Y/N, hey hey. You’re ok, you’re ok. We just- we need you to stop. Ok?”

The sound that leaves you isn’t you. It’s panicked and scared and a little bit angry. “What? What’s going on?”

Deans is hard and steadfast against Sam’s softness, “Metatron lied. You finish this trial, you’re dead, Y/N.”

They don’t understand. You’re already dead. You died somewhere along the way tonight. You didn’t just give Crowley your blood you gave him your humanity, a life for a life, and the only thing that’s stopping you from melting into nothingness is the power of the demon tablet that courses through you. Keeping you up with a rod in your spine, standing just long enough to finish this.

There’s no way to eloquently explain that though so what you say, to sum it up is, “so?”

“What?”

You’re not sure which one even says it, your eyes not really being able to focus, but it doesn’t matter as you continue, “look at him, this, me! Look how close we are. Other people will die if I don’t finish this!”

“Think about it. Think about what we know. Pulling souls from hell, curing demons, hell, ganking a hellhound! We have enough knowledge on our side to turn the tide here!”

Dean tries to hit you with information but it’s Sam who recognizes that his plea won’t pull you back, “Y/N, we can’t do this without you.”

Something in you is still there, alive, and it’s fury and it’s embarrassment. “Are you kidding me? You guys barely trust me to tie my own shoes most days. You both think I’m this screw-up, both of you have been holding my hand since you met me but oh! When I started these trials. Oh, then it all _really_ came out, didn’t it?! How useless I am. Can’t be trusted. You don’t get it, either of you. It was always supposed to be me. Because so what if I die? I don’t matter but like it or not I’m going to do something that _does_ matter.”

“That’s not what we meant Y/N.” Dean looks taken aback but you don’t notice it.

Sam has an expression you’ve never seen and still don’t through your blurry eyes, “you know we care about you, I care about you.”

“No. NO! I can’t take it anymore. I never- fuck. I never get to save you.” There are tears rolling down your face now, again, but you’re burning so they feel like ice against the heat of you. “In there I confessed to murder, lying, but you know the worst thing? My big secret? How much I disappoint you two, never strong enough to save you, never quick enough or smart enough and I can’t keep living like that. I can’t keep watching you both carry me around like a dead weight that you have to watch out for. I just can’t anymore…”

Something right at the back of your mind recognizes the intensity of Dean as he speaks, “hey you listen to me, sweetheart. I know I’ve been hard on you and yeah maybe I’ve said some things I shouldn’t but Y/N. Come on. If you don’t know it already then, I’m telling you now, you’re my family. You’re my sister. And there is nothing I wouldn’t do for you. I’ll let’s all these sons of bitches walk rather than lose you. You gotta know that.”

Sam wants his turn now but whatever heart you have left clenches tightly in your chest as he steps forward. His energy is completely different from Dean's. Dean is pushing with everything he has to try and make you understand but Sam is serving his own confession. Whether it works or not he has things he needs to say.

“Y/N you’re so unbelievably wrong. It has never been like that. I have never looked at you and seen anything but you. Capable, smart, strong. You’re what keeps me going. And I believed you, you know? I trusted you when you said you were going to make it through this alive. I had to because there isn’t a future for me that you’re not in. I can’t wake up every day and not have you there because what’s the point?” His hand reaches out for you, unflinching at your temperature or the wetness of your cheek as his thumb traces your cheekbone. “It kills me that you think you could disappoint me, ever. You couldn't if you tried.”

You jump back from him because it’s all too much, albeit not far. Your heartbeat speeding up in your chest, his words, Dean’s words, the way your head is crying out for you to finish and die but your soul is clawing at you to stop. Live.

When you open your mouth you’re still not sure which part of you wins until the words come tumbling out too fast, as fast as the blood pours from the cut on your hand, “how do I stop?”

“Just let go.” Dean offers like it's that simple.

“I can’t. It’s in me. You don’t know what this feels like. I don’t know what it is but it’s more than I am.”

Sam waves a hand at Dean who comes in the other side of you now, taking something from his pocket while Sam keeps your attention, “hey, there’s nothing more than you.”

Dean wraps a bandana against your hand stopping the blood but keeping everything else locked inside, “we’ll figure this out, kid. Just like always.”

Sam wraps you up in his arms in the next moment, soothing fingers down the curve of your back like he’s trying to lull you to sleep and whispers in your ears, “let it go. It’s ok. I've got you, always.”

Dean squeezes you both like the tightness of his arms might put everything back together again. Or like you’re both all he has left.

When you all break apart you feel something dulling inside you and it’s not your existence that’s fading away. “Guys?” you ask questioningly but you all see it together. The primordial light fades and you smile, something you were sure would never happen again. The matching relief on their faces is the last thing you see before you collapse to the floor in a pool of pain.

“Y/N?!”

One of them screams your name, maybe both of them. You can’t concentrate past the way your insides churn. Your guts are twisted, your muscles throb and every inch of you feels like it’s being pulled on hooks in a thousand different directions. You think you should have passed out from the pain, but agony is also what’s keeping you conscious. You’re stuck unable to do anything but gasp for air and cry out.

At some point in this state, you’re taken outside in time to open your eyes and lights in the sky. Lights that should be beautiful and majestic but instead they’re falling, painfully. Igniting the ground where they land as you finally descend into darkness.

* * *

Opening your eyes feels like opening a book that hasn’t been checked out in decades. Your eyelids don’t want to be pried apart, they cling to each other but your arms aren’t strong enough to reach up and wipe at them like you want to. The light in the room is bright against the unconsciousness you’re waking from, it makes you squint even when you do finally pry your eyes open.

You’re in a room that you’ve not seen before, it’s clinical but like all rooms in the bunker, it has the faded edges of time. The grout of the white tiles is aged pale yellow and the ceiling above you is greyed. The bed you’re lying on also appears to be something you’d find in a hospital fifty years ago. There’s an IV in your arm along with a blood pressure and heart rate monitor, but all of the machines look like men of letters originals.

You try clearing your throat, but it grinds against itself like cogs in a disused machine. It’s painful even though you thought your capacity for pain was done by now. Apparently not.

Sam suddenly falls against the doorframe like he’s run a mile to get there. You’re not sure how he knew, how he would have heard your pitiful attempts to speak, but he’s there. He’s all flailing limbs as his shoulder slams into the wood, which is the most uncoordinated you’ve ever seen him.

“You’re awake.”

It’s a statement of fact that doesn’t need to be said because you’re more than aware, but he’s clearly trying to convince himself that it’s true by the way he takes nervous steps towards your bed. Well, actually towards the empty chair by your bed that you’ve only just noticed.

“Yeah.” It’s croaky and dry but it’s words and that feels like a success all its own.

Sam seems to agree because his face cracks into this smile that warms you up to your toes.

“Here, let me... you want some water?” He asks already leaning over you with a plastic cup and gentle movements that let you only drink the smallest sips. It’s all you need right now.

He puts the cup down and sits in the seat without a second thought which generates a million questions in your head, you go with the obvious one though, “how long was I out?”

There’s a frown that tells you he was hoping to keep the information to himself for as long as possible, but Sam isn’t one to lie if you ask him a direct question, “just over three weeks. A couple days shy of a month.”

“What? How? How am I alive?”

Again, it hurts him to tell you, you can feel the worry rolling off of him even while you're awake.

“We were going to take you to a hospital but with the angels falling,” he pauses catching your ‘what the fuck’ expression. “I’ll explain later. It just wasn’t safe, especially if we had to leave you there. But we might have brought a doctor to you. He said- well, he said you were in a coma and we had to wait and... it doesn’t matter you’re awake.”

You can tell there’s more there. Whatever the doctor said clearly scared him but you can’t help asking, “how did you get a doctor into the bunker?”

There’s no hiding the chuckle in his voice when he answers, “without asking.”

That brings a smile to your face, small but there. The mental picture of Sam and Dean somehow smuggling a doctor into the bunker to check on you. In your head, there are blindfolds involved. It seems like a mission impossible and you’ve no doubt Dean probably whistled the theme tune.

Sam shuffles his chair a little closer and you wonder how long he’s sat in that thing. He wraps both hands around one of yours bringing you out of your head, “obviously we couldn’t leave you in some hospital.”

“Because of the angels?”

“Because it’s you.” He retorts before the last syllable leaves your mouth. Suddenly a particular moment in the church comes back hitting you between the eyes. His voice rings in your ears, _‘there’s nothing more than you_.’

“Sam?”

“Yeah?”

You squeeze his hand with all the energy you have after lying in a bed for three weeks, “thank you for bringing me home.”

He gets it. Your self-doubt takes a backseat because you know he gets it, “I always will.”


End file.
